Finding Christmas
by undeadstoryteller
Summary: Annie just wants a happy Christmas. Set between Series 1 and 2.


It was nearly ten in the morning by the time George and Mitchell made their way down stairs that day, but Annie's spirit wasn't dampened, even when she had to remake the tea and coffee three times to ensure it would be fresh and hot.

George was first to turn the corner. Annie beamed, bouncing on her toes as she held out a mug to him. "Happy Christmas!"

George blinked. "Oh, is that today?"

"Well, of course it's today. How could you forget Christmas?"

George took the mug and shrugged. "I don't celebrate it, Annie. It's just another day."

"But…"

George looked up as Mitchell slogged his way down the steps. "Hey Mitchell," he said, "did you know today was Christmas?"

"Oh... _finally_," Mitchell said, making a line toward Annie and taking the mug out of her hand. "If I hear that 'snow is falling' song one more time," he took a sip of coffee, "I'll kill someone."

"Don't joke about killing someone, Mitchell," Annie said. She followed him into the kitchen. "Don't joke about killing someone on _Christmas_."

"Annie," Mitchell said, pulling a box of cereal from the shelf, "vampires don't do Christmas."

George walked in and pulled the milk from the refrigerator.

"No," Annie said, yanking the milk away from George. She turned and jerked the cereal out of Mitchell's hands. "No one is having cold cereal for breakfast today." She walked with purpose to the bin and dropped them in.

"What are you _doing_?" George said, running over to the bin. "That's perfectly good!" He retrieved the milk and glared at her.

"I was up all morning making a proper Christmas breakfast." Annie lifted the lid from a platter on the table. "I fixed you boys eggs, salmon, there's some sausage…"

"Wow," Mitchell said, taking a seat. He started to fill his plate.

"What are you doing, Mitchell?" George asked.

Mitchell paused. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

George huffed. "Don't encourage her."

"She was up all morning fixing this -"

"She's always up all morning, Mitchell," George said. He looked at Annie, who took a step back, her eyes filling with tears. "She _doesn't sleep_."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Annie said quietly, before disappearing.

Mitchell looked at George. "Eat the fucking salmon."

George sat down. "You do realize this is insane."

The sound of a sob came wafting from the other room. Mitchell dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter. He stood up.

"Is it really worth it, George?"

George didn't say anything as he watched Mitchell walk out.

* * *

Mitchell didn't notice the makeshift decorations until he walked into the living room. There was a small, twig-like tree covered in cut pieces of paper and aluminium foil and a paper garland strung across the wall. He sat down next to her.

"It looks nice," he said.

"You don't care," she sniffed.

"I would have bought you some lights for that if you'd asked me," he said, motioning toward the tree.

She wiped her eyes. "Forget about it, Mitchell," she said. "It was stupid of me to think we could have a real Christmas."

"It's not stupid."

George walked in and sat down next to her on the other side of the sofa.

"I'm sorry, George," she said. "I shouldn't have tried to force you to celebrate something you don't believe in."

George sighed. "You were... just being nice."

"I just wanted it to be like it was before," she said. "Christmas morning was my favorite. A big breakfast, a fire in the hearth. Having wine in the morning." She smiled.

"Well," George said. "Maybe you should have opened with the wine."

Mitchell laughed.

"My family is probably all together right now, singing carols and exchanging gifts. I just miss it."

George and Mitchell looked at each other.

"Why can't you be there with them?" Mitchell asked. "You could rent-a-ghost over, and -"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said. "I haven't been back to my parent's house since… since before." She looked from George to Mitchell. "I'm scared."

Mitchell gave George a look. George knew what he was thinking. He shook his head no when he knew Annie wasn't looking.

"Well," Mitchell said, "maybe we could take you -"

"Mitchell," George started.

"You would do that for me?" Annie said.

Before Mitchell could answer, George stood up and yanked him up off of the couch. "Can you just give us a minute?" he asked, holding up one finger and he pushed Mitchell toward the kitchen.

In the kitchen, out of Annie's earshot, George leaned in and whispered, "what are you doing?"

"This would mean everything to her, George."

"Her parents live an hour away! I have a shift this afternoon!"

"Not until four. If we leave now, we'll get there in an hour, Annie gets to spend a little time with her family, and we'll be back here by two."

"Mitchell."

"When has Annie asked us for anything?"

"She didn't ask for this! You offered!"

"Christmas means something to Annie," Mitchell said. "This could be the best present we could give her."

"Or it could be an unmitigated disaster."

"George -"

"I don't understand this. You _hate_ Christmas."

"I know," Mitchell said. He shrugged. "But… I get it. When I was a kid…. I don't know, George, if my parents were still alive, maybe I'd want to -"

"Oh, God, she's gotten to you."

"Would it be so bad to do something nice for her?"

"I do nice things for her all the time. _All the time_. Maybe you need to think about why you need a special day to do something nice for her."

"Oh, for god's sake, George," Mitchell said. He paused. "You're really going to make me drive her while she's like that by myself?"

George peered out at Annie and shrugged. "Well, she looks better already."

Mitchell glanced out. "See? It's what she really wants. Three hours, George. At the most. If we don't get back in time, I'll go to McGough myself and take full responsibility."

George shook his head, but he was resigned. "I just want to go on record as saying that I think this is a bad idea."

* * *

"Where did you get that salmon, anyway?" George asked, 45 minutes into the trip.

Annie stretched out in the back seat, examining her fingernails. "I ordered it online."

"Oh, and how did you pay for it?"

"I just used a card."

George turned and looked at her. "Who's card?" He jerked a thumb toward Mitchell. "We know this one can't get a credit card -"

"It's called flying under the radar, George," Mitchell said.

"Which leaves me and my perfect credit, and I do not remember giving you permission -"

"I have my own card, George."

"What?"

"They're not that hard to get."

George blinked and looked from Mitchell to Annie. "And how do you plan to repay the debt? With magic ghost money?"

"I still have access to one of Owen's bank accounts," she said. "I just set it up to make an automatic payment every month."

Mitchell glanced in the rearview. "Get out."

Annie shrugged. "And even if I can't pay it, what are they going to do? Kill me?"

"Bad credit will follow you your whole life," George said.

"Exactly," Annie said.

* * *

The Sawyer home sat in the middle of a quiet street.

"There it is!" Annie said, pointing to the house. "Except… where are the lights?"

Mitchell and George looked at each other in silence. Mitchell pulled over and parked the car.

"Every year, my dad and I would hang lights all over the front. I wonder why he didn't put them up?"

"Annie," Mitchell said, turning to look at her. "Sometimes when someone dies, the holidays can be… difficult."

"He was probably just busy with work," she said. She ran her fingers through her hair, as if to fix it, even though she never had a hair out of place. "Well, I guess…" she looked at George and Mitchell. "Here goes."

She stepped out of the car without opening the door.

"Good luck," George called.

Mitchell made a face and looked at George. "'_Good luck?_'"

* * *

Annie walked through the front door, expecting Christmas. What she found instead was a shadow of the holiday, shrouded in sadness. There was a tree, hardly bigger than a potted plant, sitting on a side table. That was it for decorations. There was no fire in the hearth, no carols. Her father sat on one end of the sofa, a glass of liquor in his hand.

"Dad?" Annie sat next to him and tried to give him a hug.

"Can you turn up the heat, Carm, it's freezing in here!" he called out.

"Well, you should put on a nice fire," Annie said. He didn't move.

On the other end of the sofa sat her younger sister, Kate, looking bored.

"Kate," she said, "when did you start dressing so… goth?"

Kate sighed and fiddled with her phone.

Annie walked to the kitchen. Her mother sat at the table, a paperback novel in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"When did you start smoking?"

She looked around. "And where is Caroline?"

_This is all wrong_, Annie thought. She marched back into the living room and pressed the power button on the stereo. The sound of "Sleigh Ride" by The Ronettes filled the room. Annie smiled.

"That's better." She went over to her sister. "Katie, remember when we used to do this song?"

Her mother came in and turned the music off. "I said no Christmas music," she said.

Annie spun around. "What?"

"I didn't put it on," her father said.

"Well, it didn't put itself on, did it?"

"But Mum -"

"I'm going out," Kate said, standing up.

Annie looked at her. "_What_."

"Be back by seven," her mother said.

"Back by seven?" Annie said, stunned. "Mum - Kate…"

Kate pulled her jacket on. "Whatever. I've got my phone."

"You can't go out on Christmas, Kate!" She followed her sister as she slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Mitchell and George sat in silence. Despite the cold, Mitchell had the window rolled all the way down, his hand dangling outside, holding a cigarette.

"God," George said, pulling his coat tightly around himself, "Annie has your number."

Mitchell took a drag. "What number?"

"A few tears, a bit of" he raised his voice to a high pitch, "_oh Mitchell_, and you'll do bloody anything."

"That's not true."

"It's your kryptonite."

Mitchell exhaled, smoke curling around the steering wheel. "That doesn't even make sense, George. Kryptonite is something repellant -"

"No," George said. "Kryptonite is a difinitive weakness. Look it up"

Mitchell looked at him. "_Weakness_? Jesus George, just because I have some compassion for people-"

George laughed. "You don't have compassion for people. You are exceedingly selective."

Mitchell tossed his cigarette butt out the window. "Yeah, well, I can take you off the shortlist."

George shrugged and rubbed his hands together. "What's taking so long?"

"It's only been a few minutes, George." Just as he started to roll up the window, the front door to the house opened, and a young woman in a black leather jacket walked out, lighting a cigarette as Annie followed her closely.

"You can't leave, Kate," Annie pleaded as the young woman strided past them, oblivious. "It's Christmas!"

"Oh my god, is that Annie's sister?" George asked, watching her pass.

"Keep your voice down, George."

"She looks like a cool, rock 'n roll Annie!"

"Stop staring, George!"

Annie appeared at the side window in tears. "Help me follow her, Mitchell."

Mitchell looked up at her. "I'm not following your sister through a cul-de-sac. Are you out of your mind?"

Annie let out a sob and rent-a-ghosted to the back seat. "Oh, this is a disaster. There's no music, there's no fire… everything's just… sad."

Mitchell and George were silent for a moment. George swallowed his_ I told you so_ and looked at her.

"Annie," he said. "Sometimes it takes a while for people to heal."

"It's been two years!"

"Two years is nothing, really."

Annie sank back into the seat, wiping her face on her sleeve. "This is all my fault."

"None of this is your fault," Mitchell said, facing the wheel.

"I never wanted it to be like this."

"They miss you," George said. "I mean, it's… it's good that they miss you."

"I wish there was a way I could tell them I want them to be happy. I would never want them to stop laughing and celebrating, especially not today." She sighed and looked out the window. After a few moments, she sat up and leaned forward. "Unless… maybe you could tell them for me."

The car fell silent.

George drew back. "You're joking, right?"

"No," Annie said, "we do it all the time!"

Mitchell looked at her. "'We?'"

"Ghosts. It's very common to find a psychic medium to deliver a message…"

Mitchell shrank down in his seat. "Oh, Jesus…"

"If they think you're a psychic medium, it's not going to _expose_ anything. Please, Mitchell."

Mitchell shook his head. "It's not happening, Annie," he said. "Seriously. There's no way I can face your parents."

She turned. "George? Please?"

"This is insane," George said, shaking his head.

Annie sat back. "Forget it," she said. "Forget I said anything." She sniffed.

Mitchell balled his fists against the steering wheel, a pained expression on his face.

George looked from Annie to Mitchell, and back to Annie again. "Oh, for -" he opened the glove box, pulled out an old memo pad and thrust it at Annie. "You have two minutes." He pulled a pen out of his coat pocket and handed it to her."

"What?" Mitchell sat up. "What are you doing?"

"Annie is going to write a - _short_ - message to her parents, her sisters, we will deliver it -"

"'_We_?'"

George pointed a finger at Mitchell. "This whole stupid situation was your stupid idea," he said. "And as of right now, you've only managed to make things worse. So you are going to follow this through so that Annie and her family have a happy fucking Christmas, so I can go home and have a nice, peaceful shift at work."

"Oh," Annie squeaked from the back seat. "George…" She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Oh, thank you, George!"

"You have _one_ minute," George said, pushing her back lightly. He glanced at Mitchell, who just stared at him, speechless.

"Bloody _kryptonite_," George said.

* * *

"Well, go on," Annie said, silently rapping on the front door with her fingers.

Mitchell took a deep breath, and glanced at George before knocking three times. Annie grinned, bouncing lightly and peering through the window.

"Annie," Mitchell whispered, "they might not -"

"He's coming!" Annie beamed, sliding behind Mitchell as if to hide herself.

The door opened slowly. Max Sawyer, the man Annie spoke of as a man full of joy and laughter, looked Mitchell over with sad eyes. The sadness was so piercing he wanted to turn and run away.

"Kate's not here," Max said gruffly, starting to push the door closed.

"No," George said, stepping up. "No, we're not here to see Kate. We're friends of Annie."

"Psychic mediums," Annie said. "Tell him you're psychic mediums."

"Annie?" Max stood up straight, looking suspicious. "Well, I've never seen you before."

"We have a message for you," Mitchell said. "Annie's… contacted us…"

"Tell him you're psychic mediums!" Annie repeated.

Mitchell paused. "I'm a psychic-"

"Is this your idea of a sick joke?" Max stepped back.

"No! No. No…" Mitchell sputtered.

The door slammed in his face.

Annie put her back to the door facing them, arms crossed.

"What was that?"

"I've never done this before, Annie," Mitchell said. "Who just walks up to someone's door and says 'I'm a psychic medium?'"

Annie glared at him. "Psychic. Mediums." She looked at George. "And you. 'Friends?' That doesn't sound creepy."

"What's creepy about it?"

Annie just shook her head.

"Maybe we can just put it in the letterbox," Mitchell suggested.

"Oh yes, put it in the letterbox," Annie huffed sarcastically, yanking the note out of his hand.

The doorknob clicked. The three of them stood, frozen, as the door opened.

Annie let the note fall from her fingers.

Carmen Sawyer stood at the door and watched the paper fall to the ground.

Mitchell bent down and picked it up before the December wind could take it away.

"May I help you?" Carmen asked tentatively.

Mitchell inhaled. "My name is John. I'm a psychic medium from Bristol."

Carmen blinked and looked at Mitchell with the same sadness he'd seen in Max. He looked away.

"Bristol?"

"I'm George," said George, extending his hand to her. "We're both mediums."

"Oh."

Mitchell swallowed. "We just wanted to tell you - well, Annie wanted to tell you - that she just wants you to have a happy Christmas."

Annie nudged him. "Read the note," she whispered.

"She knows how sad you are," George said. "She knows you miss her every day…"

Carmen put her hand to her mouth.

"But she wants you to know that she's OK, and it would make her happy to know that you were happy, at least for one day."

Carmen closed her eyes and nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Annie loved Christmas…"

Annie reached out to her mother, trying in vain to comfort her with her touch. "I'm here, Mum…"

Carmen looked at the paper in Mitchell's hand. "May I see?"

Mitchell looked at Annie. She nodded.

Carmen took the note and turn it over in her hands. "Oh!" she gasped. She looked as if she was going to lose her balance. George grabbed her arm and lowered her to the floor.

Max came up from behind. "What in god's name -"

"Max!" Carmen sobbed. "Our Annie wrote this! It's her handwriting, I'd know it anywhere!"

Max looked from George to Mitchell, confused.

"Where did you get this?" Carmen asked. She pressed the note against her forehead, then threw her arms around George.

"Thank you," she said. Annie was beaming again.

She stood up and hugged Mitchell. "Oh," she sniffled, "you must be angels."

Mitchell shook his head. "We're really not."

"You're stone cold," she said to Mitchell. "I'll make you both some tea."

"No," George said, standing. "No, we have to get back to Bristol."

"So soon?" Carmen and Annie said at the same time.

"Yeah," Mitchell said. "We have a drive."

Max lifted the note from Carmen's fingers. "What does it say?"

Annie put her head on her father's shoulder as he looked at it, and read aloud:

_"Dear Dad and Mum, Caroline and Peter, and Kate,_

_Please don't be sad._

_Merry Christmas, with love,_

_Annie."_

"Short and sweet," Mitchell said, forgetting for a moment that Max and Carmen couldn't hear Annie. He held his hand out.

Carmen's eyes fluttered as his hand seemed to grasp thin air. She turned. "Max, start the fire," she said, smiling.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer," George said.

Carmen looked at them, a glimmer of light returning to her eyes. "Thank you," she said.

As the three of them walked to the car arm in arm, the strains of "Merry Christmas, Everyone" wafting from behind the closed door, Mitchell turned to Annie.

"You know, you can stay. Rent-a-ghost home later."

Annie shook her head. "Christmas is for family."

"George is going to work, and I'm probably just gonna watch TV."

"I know," she said with a smile.


End file.
